Rebirth of the Phantom Empress

**Chapter 6 – A Glimpse in the Shadows**

The marketplace was alive with a cacophony of sounds and scents—merchants shouting, coins clinking, the aroma of fresh bread and roasting meat mingling with the earthy tang of spices. It was a world of vibrant chaos, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of Lady Mirva's estate. Here, Selene could breathe. Here, she could almost forget the chains of her servitude.

She stepped onto the cobblestone path, her worn wicker basket hooked over her arm, and inhaled deeply. The air was thick with life, not the damp, musty stench of Lady Mirva's halls. For a moment, she felt free.

As she passed a fruit stall, a stout woman with rosy cheeks waved a basket of apples in the air. "Sweet and crisp! The finest apples of the season!" The vibrant red and yellow hues of the fruit seemed to beckon her.

Selene hesitated, her fingers brushing the few coins in her pocket. She glanced at the vendor, who was already sizing her up—her tattered dress, her frayed basket. The woman's warm smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of pity.

"One silver for a batch," the vendor said, then added, "but for you, five coppers a piece."

Selene bit back a smirk. Even in a place as free as this, hierarchies lingered. But she wasn't offended; she found it almost amusing.

"Three coppers," she countered, lifting an apple and inspecting its sheen.

The vendor huffed, crossing her arms. "Four."

Selene placed the apple back on the pile. "Two."

"Two?!" The vendor's hands flew to her hips. "Do I look like I'm running a charity?"

Selene met her gaze, unflinching. The vendor sighed, exasperated. "Fine, three. But only because I admire a girl who knows how to bargain."

Selene handed over the coins and took the apple, a small thrill coursing through her. It was a trivial victory, but after weeks of obeying Lady Mirva's every command, this tiny act of defiance felt like a triumph. She took a crisp bite, the sweetness bursting on her tongue, and savoured the moment.

As she wandered deeper into the market, the rhythmic clanging of the blacksmith's forge echoed like a heartbeat. Street performers juggled knives, their movements a blur of precision, while children darted through the crowd, their laughter a melody of pure joy. For the first time since awakening in this new body, Selene felt a lightness in her chest—a fleeting taste of freedom.

But it didn't last.

A sudden yelp shattered her reverie. Near a spice stall, a boy no older than ten had tripped, his basket of potatoes spilling across the dirt path. He scrambled to gather them, his wide eyes darting nervously as merchants stepped around him, indifferent to his plight.

Selene didn't hesitate. She knelt beside him, her hands moving swiftly to gather the scattered potatoes. The boy looked up, his face a mix of surprise and gratitude.

"T-Thank you, miss," he stammered, clutching the basket to his chest.

She nodded, her voice soft but firm. "Be careful next time."

He bowed slightly and darted off, disappearing into the crowd. Selene straightened, adjusting her basket. The act was small, almost insignificant, but it reminded her of who she had once been—a ruler who understood the struggles of her people. Even in this life, she vowed to hold onto that.

**A Presence in the Crowd**

As she turned a corner, the atmosphere shifted. The market's cacophony dulled, conversations hushed, and an undercurrent of tension rippled through the crowd. Selene followed their gazes and saw him.

A man stood near the entrance of a high-end jewellery shop, his presence commanding attention without effort. He was tall, his figure draped in a sleek black coat adorned with silver embroidery that caught the light with every subtle movement. His face was sharp, chiselled like marble, but it was his eyes that held her captive—piercing, unyielding grey, like the edge of a blade.

He wasn't just a noble; he was something more. The way he carried himself exuded authority, and the crowd instinctively parted for him, as though sensing his power long before he acknowledged them.

Selene's fingers tightened around her basket, but she refused to look away. She had seen eyes like his before—in the courtroom, on the battlefield, in the gaze of men who wielded empires with a flick of their wrist. They were the eyes of someone dangerous, someone who could unravel her carefully constructed facade with a single glance.

For a heartbeat, their eyes met.

Time seemed to stop.

The noise of the market faded, leaving only the electric tension between them. His gaze lingered, cold and calculating, as if he could see through her, past the tattered dress and the frayed basket, to the soul beneath. Selene's breath caught, her heart pounding in her chest.

Then, without a word, he turned away, blending into the crowd as effortlessly as a shadow.

Selene exhaled slowly, the tension in her muscles unravelling only after he disappeared from sight. Her mind raced with questions. Who was he? And why did it feel like, for just a moment, she had been standing on the edge of something catastrophic?

She had no answers. But one thing was certain—this was no ordinary man. And if fate had anything to say about it, their paths would cross again.

**The Shadow's Gaze**

Unbeknownst to Selene, the man paused just beyond the market's edge, his sharp gaze flicking back toward the crowd. His lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. He had seen the fire in her eyes, the defiance that set her apart from the sea of faces around her. She didn't carry herself like the others—there was a quiet strength in her posture, a sharpness in her gaze that intrigued him.

He didn't know who she was, but he intended to find out.

The game had just begun.